The Road to Godric's Hollow
by Mirie
Summary: On one rainy summer's night, a prophecy was made. A prophecy about the rise of a hero and the fall of the Dark Lord. A prophecy that was bound to change all of their lives. This chronicles the events from June, 1980 to November, 1981.
1. June, 1980

Thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised version posted March 29, 2004.

_June, 1980_

It was a cold, rainy summer's night and the streets of Hogsmeade were fairly deserted. The shops had long closed for the day, and the downpour drove nearly every sane wizard indoors. Hardly anyone noticed the thin figure walking along the path that led from Hogwarts into the village. He was an old man with long silvery hair and an equally long beard to match. Water streamed down from his purple umbrella, soaking his long blue robes, which were made from the finest velvet and adorned with intricate patters of centaurs and nymphs. His half-moon spectacles, nestled on the bridge of his crooked nose, seemed impervious to the drizzle. Despite the rains and the slippery mud, he was walking quite briskly. He strode down the main street past Zonko's Joke Shop and the post office, and then turned into a side street that led to a small inn. A wooden sign hanging above the door was swaying dangerously due to the wind. Upon closer inspection, a picture of a severed boar's head could be discerned on the sign. 

He entered the inn and immediately surveyed the bar. The Hog's Head was known for its more interesting clientele and its unusual goat-like scent. There were only a handful of customers inside. An old and shabby wizard was sleeping by the bar, surrounded by half a dozen empty firewhiskey bottles. A group of goblins was having dinner at a table in the corner. Another wizard was seated at a table by the stairs. An oversized balaclava hid his face, and he was nursing a bottle of butterbeer. Busy scrubbing by the side was an elderly barman, fruitlessly trying to clean the bar top with a rag that looked as old as him.

The old man went to the barman and asked him softly, "Is she here yet, Aberforth?"

Aberforth inclined his head and answered quietly, "She's waiting for you. Second floor, two doors down on the right."

The old man smiled and nodded his thanks, and slowly went his way up the old and creaking stairs.

_I must be getting soft in my old age_, he thought to himself. _Or probably I'm just too nice for my own sake._

He did not want to be here tonight. In fact, he had quite a number of papers waiting for him back in his office, not to mention all the work he needed to do for the Order. Albus Dumbledore was a very busy man, but he was here tonight to interview an unemployed "Seer" who was looking to teach at Hogwarts. He had already made up his mind on this matter, and he doubted whether actually talking to her would change his decision not to hire her. Sybill Trelawney may have descended from the great Seer Cassandra Trelawney, but Albus knew that the gift of foresight is not one that is passed down from generation to generation.

He stopped outside the door and rapped upon it three times. "Miss Sybill Trelawney?"

"Yes Headmaster, come in," called out a slightly dreamy voice.

The door opened to reveal a very thin woman who was draped in shawls of various colours. Her long neck was bedecked with a number of colourful beads while various bracelets and rings adorned her hands. Her thick glasses, making her look like a grasshopper, unnaturally magnified her eyes.

"Good evening Headmaster. Would you care for something to eat or drink?" the young woman inquired.

"No, thank you, Miss Trelawney. If you don't mind, perhaps we could proceed with our interview?" Albus answered with a small smile.

She gave a small nod of affirmation. Albus gave her a few seconds to collect herself before asking her questions.

"Why do you think that Divination should be included in the school's curriculum?" he asked her gently.

With her eyes glazed, she responded in a dreamy voice, "Divination is one of the most complex and important areas of magic. Unfortunately, few people have the ability to use their Inner Eye to See. I believe that it is our duty to our children to educate them in this noble art..."

Albus fought to suppress the grin that breaking over his face. "What makes you think that you are a capable instructor? Aside from the fact that you are a descendant of one of the greatest Seers in history."

She looked taken aback for a brief moment, her eyes even losing their lustre for a few seconds. She quickly composed herself, and answered in an even mistier tone, "I have been practicing the art of Divination for a long time now, sir. I am well-versed in the practices of palmistry, crystal gazing..."

He tried to look interested in what she was saying. He gave her what he called his "amused Headmaster" smile accompanied by a few nods every now and then. Albus was actually trying to think of a way to tell her that he could not accept her. He contemplated on the merits of telling her that she did not have enough experience when she suddenly stopped talking.

"Sybill? Is there something wrong?" he asked worriedly. The woman has suddenly become rigid in her chair. He was just about to call his brother when she spoke up in a harsh tone.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."_

***

Hiding from the barman, otherwise known as Aberforth Dumbledore, Mundungus Fletcher tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible under his balaclava. The old man has not forgiven him yet for trying to steal his goats four years ago. Although most sane people would have forgotten about an incident as minor as this, Aberforth seemed to have exceptionally keen memory (as well as questionable sanity). Until he either forgave Mundungus or forgot about the goats, the latter was banned from the pub's premises.

Right now, he did not have much of a choice. He did not have enough money (due to an unfortunate bet he made on the season's last Quidditch match) to buy Floo powder or to stay at the other local inn. He most certainly did not have any intention of walking home in the rain. But as the fates would have it, he did have enough money to stay at the Hog's Head. Thus, he was forced to don this old balaclava and hope that the old barman did not recognize him.

He was just about to nod off when the door opened to admit in a wizened wizard. Mundungus nearly fell off his seat when he realized whom the newcomer was.

_Headmaster Dumbledore? Wonder what he's doin' 'ere_, he thought to himself. He watched as the Headmaster went to speak briefly with his brother before turning and going up to the second floor.

Now Mundungus did not consider himself to be a nosy person. He believed in minding one's own business, unless of course there was a good reason (or a high enough amount of money to be gained) to get involved in another's affairs.

"And it seems me luck's abou' to turn..." he muttered to himself.

Augustus Rookwood has recently commissioned him for a job. Since his "business" always took him near Hogwarts, he was tasked to keep an eye on the school's professors and to report any unusual and suspicious activities. Apparently in these dark times, no one is above suspicion. Any information that may aid the Ministry in the war against _Him_ would be greatly appreciated (and highly compensated). Or so Rookwood told him.

And nothing is more suspicious than seeing the great Albus Dumbledore visiting the Hog's Head. Not that he thinks that the Headmaster is involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, mind you. He just isn't the type to frequent establishments such as the Hog's Head.

_He must be meetin' someone upstairs,_ he thought.

Mundungus waited a full minute after the Headmaster went upstairs before moving to follow him. He stole a quick glance to the barman and saw that Aberforth was busy tending to the goblins. Quiet as a mouse, Mundungus crept up the stairs. He held his breath with each step he took, certain that everyone in the pub had heard the creaks he made. After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the top of the stairs. There was no light shining under the first door on the second floor. Mundungus listened for a while, and came to the conclusion that this room was unoccupied. He moved to the second room and immediately saw that the light under the door. He squatted by the door and struggled to listen to the muffled voices from within.

"...I have been practicing the art of Divination for a long time now, sir. I am well-versed in the practices of palmistry, crystal gazing..." said a misty female voice.

_Bloody hell, sounds like a bad lecture on Divination,_ he thought. The woman was droning on and on about her various "Gifts" and instances wherein she managed to "See" certain events. Just when his legs felt about to be permanently damaged and he was about to leave, the woman suddenly stopped talking.

"Sybill? Is there something wrong," inquired Albus.

A harsh voice, unlike the earlier misty and dreamy tone, declared loud enough that Mundungus heard every word clearly,_ "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."_

Mundungus felt a strong hand grip his shoulder and turn him around. He found himself looking into the gleaming eyes of very person he did not wish to see.

"Dropping eaves, are we?" said Aberforth. In an instant, the old man's eyes lost their gleam. "You!" he cried. "Mundungus Fletcher! What are you doing here, you thief? Didn't I specifically tell you that you are under no circumstances to enter my pub ever again?" shouted the old man.

"I... you see, the rain... and I," stuttered Mundungus. Aberforth, who was surprisingly strong and agile for his age, dragged the much younger man down the stairs and out the pub into the pouring rain.

"Get out and keep out you filthy goat-stealing bum!" said Aberforth, who promptly closed the door in Mundungus' face.

Mundungus sighed, pulled up his balaclava over his face, and started to walk home. "At least I have something to tell Rookwood..."


	2. Part I: Where Paths are Set

Thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised version posted March 29, 2004.

**Part I: Where Paths are Set**

_22 June 1980_

The early morning sun was shining brightly, its rays catching on the dew-ridden leaves of the forest, making them sparkle like emeralds. The world was just starting to wake. The birds' melodic songs were beginning to be heard from across the forest. Light snores could still be heard inside the small hut by the edge of the woods. Owls of different shapes and sizes were returning to their tower, satiated from their nightly hunt.

Inside the castle, in a spacious circular room guarded by stone gargoyles, an old man was sitting wide-awake by his claw-footed table. He seemed to be lost in thought with his gaze focused on a shallow stone basin, which was decorated with various runes and symbols. Seemingly out of nowhere, a female voice piped up. 

"Perhaps we could listen to it one more time, Dumbledore? We might have missed something."

Albus Dumbledore came out of his trance. With a deep breath, he prodded the silver substance inside the basin with his wand. A female figure rose out of the swirling mists, the same woman he had met with a few nights ago in the Hog's Head. The image spoke out as she revolved around the pensive.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

A few seconds after her monologue, the phantom Sybill Trelawney vanished into the swirling substance.

"Are you certain that this is an authentic prophecy, Dumbledore?" another disembodied voice called out.

Albus turned to look at one of the numerous paintings which adorned his office. The canvas contained a smug-looking man with a pointed beard. "The only thing certain in this world is uncertainty, Phineas. I do have some reservations regarding the matter, but it would not hurt to make the necessary precautions."

A wizened witch with grey curls spoke up next. "What time are you expecting him, Albus?"

"He should be here any minute now," the Headmaster replied in a weary voice.

A red-nosed wizard came panting into the empty canvass that hung behind his desk. "Dumbledore, I came from downstairs. He's just arrived."

As if on cue, the inhabitants of the room heard the slow, grinding ascent of the staircase outside the office, which was followed by three soft raps upon the door.

"Come in, Frank," Albus called out.

The door opened to admit a tall, muscular man with longish brown hair. He appeared to be in his early thirties, although his face was prematurely lined with wrinkles. There were dark circles underneath his tired eyes, and he looked as if he had not slept for a week.

"Is there something wrong, Albus? Will there be an attack? What's...?" he anxiously inquired.

Albus motioned for him to take a seat. "Calm down, my good man. Nothing's wrong, and as far as I know there will be no attacks today. Care for a lemon drop?"

With a relieved breath and a shake of his head, Frank Longbottom sat at one of the comfortable chintz armchairs near the Headmaster's desk. "That's a relief. I was looking forward to a full night's sleep."

"How was your shift? From the absence of news, I take it nothing happened last night?" questioned the older man.

"No, everything was quiet last night. Moody and I stood guard outside the Ministry from eleven until five o'clock this morning, and the only thing we saw were a couple of drunk Muggles who decided to re-decorate the phone booth." Frank ran a hand through his hair before continuing, "As usual, Pettigrew didn't arrive until around two. Said that he fell asleep. I don't know why we even bother calling on him."

"Peter is loyal. Despite his shortcomings, I can tell that he will play an important part in this war," Albus answered.

"Anyway, this isn't the first time that we received false information. I thought your informant was sure that there will be a break-in?" the Auror asked.

"He was. Voldemort must have changed his plans or..." Albus stopped for a moment. His gaze went to a frame that was standing near the edge of his desk. The picture was of a group of people, some waving, a few talking amongst themselves, others smiling up at him. He could see himself standing at the front beside Alastor Moody. "Or someone may have told him that we would be there."

Frank followed his gaze. "Do you really think that one of us has turned?"

"All the signs point that way."

"Who could it be?"

"I have my suspicions, but alas we do not have much proof and I am loathe to accuse someone who may turn out to be innocent." With a sigh, Albus looked away from the photograph and turned to his visitor. "I did not invite you here to talk about my suspicions, Frank."

"What do you want to talk to me about?" Frank asked curiously.

"I do not know how to tell you this, so I thought to just show you." Albus again took his wand and with it prodded the pensieve. The figure of Sybill Trelawney reappeared and repeated the prophecy. Frank sat in awe, listening to the Seer as she foretold of the fall of Voldemort. He just sat there in silence, until long after the figure has disappeared from the pensieve. Albus decided to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

After a couple of minutes have passed, Frank finally spoke up. "Do you believe this prophecy?"

"I am of two minds on the matter; nevertheless, we must be prepared and make the necessary precautions. I am afraid that Voldemort may already know of the prophecy."

With this, Frank paled and looked fearfully to Albus. "He may already know? How? When was this prophecy made? And to whom?"

"This prophecy was made to me just a few nights ago at the Hog's Head. That woman was applying for a teaching position here, and we were in the midst of our interview when she had her vision. We were not aware that we had an eavesdropper. My brother noticed him and threw him out, though not before we could ascertain how much he knew."

"And you believe that it's referring to my child?"

_"Yes."_

Frank was quiet for a while, lost in his thoughts. Albus was just about to offer him some tea when he suddenly brightened up. "But it may not be my child! It could be the Potters'! It fits, Albus. They also defied Voldemort thrice, and Lily's..."

"Lily's seven months along now. She's expected to give birth on August, not July."

Frank's face fell again. "What should we do, Albus?"

"We have to ensure your child's safety. I assume you have enough protective wards set up on your house?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps we could also perform the Fidelius Charm."

"Is that necessary?"

"We have to be prepared for the worst. And we are talking about the fate of the wizarding world." Albus looked at the Auror. In the span of a few minutes, he appeared to have gained a few more years.

"What am I to tell Alice?" Frank asked, his voice tinged with despair.

Albus thought for a while. "Nothing. Do not tell her of the prophecy for it might harm her pregnancy. Maybe in a few months, but not now."

***

She stood by the open door of the nursery. A light wind blew into the room, making the light green curtains flutter gently. Sunlight filled the small nursery, making its yellow walls appear to glow. A blue carpet, which was trimmed with white bunnies and small carrots, was spread over the cold wooden floor. A child's dining area was set at one corner, with its four chairs occupied by various stuffed animals. A white crib was at the centre of the room, with green beddings. Standing by this crib was a tall bespectacled man with messy dark hair, unaware that he had an audience.

"A Knut for your thoughts?" she teased.

James Potter jumped at the sound. He turned around to face his laughing wife.

"Why do you always have to do that?" he asked her in mock anger.

"Honestly James, didn't Moody ever teach you never to turn your back on an open door? What kind of an Auror are you?" she answered in mock disbelief.

"The cute kind," he answered.

Lily smiled. "So you say. Come on, lunch is ready," she said as she led him towards the dining room. "Oh, I've received a letter from my mother. Petunia's given birth today, just a few minutes after midnight. She said that it's a boy."

James' face assumed a neutral expression. "Well, I think that's good."

"Can't you at least pretend to be happy for her? For them?" she pleaded.

"I could, doesn't mean I would or I should," he answered in mock seriousness.

"I think it's nice. Can't you image their son and our baby growing up together?"

James' snort was the only response she got. "Oh come on, they're not THAT bad!" she retorted.

"Yes, and Voldemort's actually a sweet and charitable person."

She laughed at this. "Oh, alright. But still..."

At this moment, their fireplace suddenly flared with green flames. A head appeared in the middle of the flickering fire.

"Potter!" called out the head of Alastor Moody

"Moody? What's up?" James asked in a worried tone.

"Crouch is sending us to Knockturn Alley to investigate. They've just discovered the body of a Death Eater. He was apparently killed by Death Eaters, since a Dark Mark was floating above him," answered the gruff voice of the Auror.

"Who was it?" asked Lily.

"Regulus Black." 


	3. 29 June 1980

Thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised version posted March 29, 2004.

_29 June 1980_

The rolling clouds muted the late afternoon sun and the warm breeze gently rustled the leaves. The graveyard was devoid of all life, except for the easternmost portion where a funeral was taking place. An old, gaunt woman with a harsh face and yellow skin stood prominently among the small group of mourners. Her stringy black hair, heavily streaked with grey, whipped around her tear-streaked face. She would wail loudly every time the coffin was covered with earth, though the other people seemed immune to her screeching voice. A stern looking man, who looked to be almost a century old due to his heavily wrinkled face, stood a little behind her. Unlike the old woman, he stood impassively beside the grave and barely spared a glance towards the coffin.

Two women supported the old lady on either side. An attractive brunette with heavily lidded eyes stood by the matron's right. The lady looked scornfully down at the black coffin. A regal blonde stood by the old woman's left. Her expressionless face gave the impression that she was immensely bored with the proceedings. A house elf hovered inconspicuously a few feet behind her, minding an elegant black baby stroller.

Not one of the mourners noticed the enormous dog that was watching them from a few meters north. It had soft black fur and was sitting patiently underneath a mahogany tree. It would growl softly every time the wind carried the old lady's wails.

The burial ended just as the sun was sinking below the horizon. One by one, the mourners paid their respects to the deceased's parents. The two women took turns holding the old lady, before disappearing with loud cracks. The crowd slowly dwindled, until only the old couple and the dog remained. The woman seemed reluctant to leave, and was eventually dragged away by her husband. Her echoing bawls could still be heard even after their departure.

The dog seemed to be waiting for this moment. It stood up, stretched lazily, and started to walk towards the freshly covered grave. Halfway across, the dog started to change. Its fur began to shorten, until only a mop of black hair remained on its head. Its torso was rapidly growing, along with its limbs. Only moments later, a man was walking in place of the dog.

Sirius Black purposefully strode towards his brother's grave. He knew it was dangerous for him to be there. He knew the complications that would arise if his hag of a mother decided to come back. He was aware of the possibility that Voldemort might have assigned Death Eaters to guard this place, in case Sirius decided to pay his respects. But frankly, he no longer cared.

He stood over the recently carved tombstone.

**REGULUS BLACK**

**1961 - 1980**

**He was Always Pure in Life.**

**He will Always Be Pure in Death.**

Sirius gave a soft snort. "More like a coward in life, a coward in death," he muttered. "That's why you always needed me. I wasn't just your older brother; I was also your protector. Do you remember how you would run to me every time you had a nightmare? You would come into my room, shaking with fear and mumbling about banshees trying to take your soul. You would dive under my covers and refuse to leave my room. At first, I would be cross with you and act annoyed with all your foolishness. I would eventually let up and allow you to stay the night. We always ended up staying awake the whole night just playing exploding snap and eating my secret stash of chocolate frogs."

Sirius sighed softly and tentatively sat down beside the cold tombstone. "You have always been scared, no _terrified_, of mother. You would hide in terror every time you broke a plate, for fear of her harsh words. You hated Kreacher with a vengeance, didn't you? You loathed how he would gleefully cackle every time mother admonished you, how he would add his own insults to mothers. You also hated father, how he was never there."

Sirius continued in a quieter tone, "You also hated me. I've always known that. You hated the way mother preferred me to you. You hated it whenever father would ask me, and only me, to accompany him on his trips. You hated the way Kreacher never had the gall to insult me."

He stopped for a moment, lost in his memories. In his mind he could see Regulus' sweet face paling in terror under their mother's barrage of insults. Even though the event occurred decades before, he could still clearly see his brother's eyes welling with tears. He could still feel the ache in his gut, this anxious tearing in his soul brought about by the realization that he couldn't always protect his younger brother.

"You hated me because I wasn't always able to protect you," Sirius whispered. "And I am sorry for that. I'm sorry for not being strong enough for you, for both of us. I know you felt that I abandoned you when I went to Hogwarts and met James. You felt that I somehow replaced you. And you're right. I did try to escape that hellhole we called home and in the process I managed to leave you behind. I left you with the monsters, not the monsters of your dreams but the monsters of reality."

"You liked it at first, didn't you?" Sirius asked. "For the first time in our lives, I was the shameful one. Our parents probably saw you in a new light. They realized how close they were to losing you, the same way they lost me. They probably drilled in you the nobility of our blood every single day. And you probably were just too happy to be finally noticed that you believed every damned thing they said."

Sirius again stopped to catch his breath. He shut his eyes in an effort to calm himself, although this had an adverse effect. Instead to seeing nothing, his mind returned to a week before. His mind forced him back to Knockturn Alley. He could see the black form lying in the gutter, rats crawling all over him. He could see those lifeless black eyes that would never cry again. He could still see that mouth open as if in shock - a mouth that would never laugh again nor scream in anger.

Sirius murmured softly, "But they never fully won you over, never fully captured your soul. Dumbledore told me what they wanted you to do. He told me how they wanted you to kill me, and how you refused. Even though you knew the implications of denying Voldemort's demands, you refused to do his bidding."

He laughed mirthlessly. "In the end, you were the one protecting me. Even though I failed you, even though I turned my back on you, you still protected me."

He slowly stood up and turned around. Before disapparating, Sirius whispered to the darkness, "I truly am sorry, brother. Until we meet again..."

***

He was freezing. They were meeting somewhere in Scotland tonight. He wasn't sure of its exact location, only that the property belonged to Malfoy. His breath came out in great white puffs, and he could no longer feel his face. His ears have long been numbed by the cold. He awkwardly adjusted his thick, dragon-hide gloves, making sure that they were secure. He had no wish of losing them in this weather. He surveyed his surroundings. He was at the edge of a patch of woods and was facing a majestic house. This enormous white house, almost the size of a small castle, was clearly inspired by Greek architecture. Tall marble columns surrounded the house, along with various statues of Greek gods and goddesses.

"Muggle statues," he muttered disdainfully.

A loud crack suddenly sounded from behind him. He turned around to see a tall figure in a dark cloak, a white mask covering his face. Severus Snape gave a small nod to the other man. Together they went up the path that led into the house. Inside they were greeted by more opulence. Every space exuded expensive elegance: a crystal chandelier on the ceiling, antique French furniture in the drawing room, and fragile Ming vases in the living room.

A house elf materialized out of nowhere. He squeaked, "Sirs, the Master and the Dark Lord is seeing yous in the basement."

The two men strode towards the aforementioned room. About a couple dozen figures, all in white masks, filled the chilly chamber. They were all positioned around a tall man, if he could still be called that. This figure had serpentine red eyes and only slits where his nose once has been. His deathly pale skin gave him the appearance of a phantom. Severus and the other Death Eater quickly took their respective places in the throng and bowed down.

"My loyal Death Eaters, my noble Knights of Walpurgis, the time of our ultimate victory is almost upon us," Lord Voldemort said in his cold voice. "Rookwood here has actually managed to do something right. He has received information about a _prophecy_," the Dark Lord spat out. "Concerning the one that would have the power to _'vanquish the Dark Lord,'_" Lord Voldemort finished his sentence with a sarcastic laugh. The group surrounding him laughed uneasily.

"My Lord, if I may," said the tall figure standing nearest Lord Voldemort. "Do we know who this _'hero'_ is?"

"Ah, but that's the beauty of prophecy, my servant," Voldemort answered. His pale, seemingly bloodless lips curled up into a malevolent grin. "Perhaps Rookwood would like to quote the prophecy for us?"

The indicated Death Eater took a step forward and said in a quivering voice, "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies."_

A soft murmur spread along the group. Severus felt a sense of dread and hopelessness. The room suddenly seemed a lot colder. _It is inevitable. His victory is inevitable_, his miserable thoughts ran through his mind, and he realized with a start that he needed to suppress them if he wanted to leave the room alive.

"Quiet!" The harsh voice of the Dark Lord ordered, and the room immediately fell into silence. "Thanks to my useful little rat here," Lord Voldemort gestured to a small figure behind him. "We now know whom the prophecy is referring to."

Severus knew that Lord Voldemort was referring to his most valuable spy, so valuable that the Death Eaters did not even know his identity. "The value of a spy lies with his anonymity," Severus thought.

"Tomorrow night," the Dark Lord continued. "We will put this information into good use. Tomorrow night, we will be sealing our victory. For tomorrow night, we will kill this _'hero'_ before he even enters this world. We will attack the Longbottoms tomorrow, and I will honour Alice Longbottom and her son by killing them myself." 


	4. 30 June 1980

Thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised edition posted March 29, 2004.

_30 June 1980_

1545 GMT

The orange rays of the late afternoon sun glinted when caught by the waters of the Irish Sea. People were strolling lazily along the boardwalk. Children could be seen running down the planks, eating ice cream cones with their friends, or building sand castles by the shore. Every now and then, a couple would stand by the pier to enjoy the view and each other. Joyous shrieks could be heard coming from the nearby amusement park.

A tall, pale man wearing long, black robes stood out amidst the tanned and brightly clad vacationers. He stood by the end of the pier, watching the waves crash against the shore. Two children, neither of whom looked much older than five, were gawking at him from behind. Suddenly he turned to face them, his face contorted into a mask of rage.

"What are you looking at?" the man's sinister voice inquired.

Paling considerably, the two children immediately scampered away.

_Muggles, I hate muggles, especially snivelling muggle children, _he chanted to himself.

Severus Snape also hated crowds. Thus, he hated muggle crowds with a vengeance. With a sneer fixed into his face, he turned back to look at the water. When certain that no one was watching him, he removed a marble cameo from his pocket. It featured Hermes, the messenger of the gods, who was wearing his winged helmet and was clutching a winged staff. Two snakes, both poised for attack, were coiled around the god's staff. Engraved around the borders of the cameo were seemingly nondescript runes. Severus ran his fingers across the runes, his mind on the task at hand.

_"...I will honour Alice Longbottom and her son by killing them myself."_

The Dark Lord gave them specific orders. Go in, take the woman, and get out. Kill anybody daft enough to get in the way, but no one is authorized to kill the woman. Harm her, but not enough as to make her lose her unborn child. The Dark Lord, and only the Dark Lord, was to have that pleasure. And that was why Severus was among those assigned to this mission. Unlike some of his more sadistic and irresponsible associates, he sparingly used the Killing Curse.

Seemingly from out of thin air, an imposing man with white blond hair appeared at his side. He was wearing a rich, dark cloak over his black robes that contrasted with his long mane. Severus surreptitiously pocketed the cameo, and gave a small nod by way of greeting to the newcomer.

"It is nearly time," drawled Lucius Malfoy.

Without waiting for a reply, Malfoy turned to walk down the boardwalk towards the residential area. Severus trailed behind the older man, careful to let the other keep the lead by at least a meter. Despite the late hour, or because of it, the boardwalk was still packed with Muggles. A number of them gave him odd looks, though fortunately everyone wisely kept out of his way.

A few minutes later, Severus found himself in a more secluded and silent section of the town. Instead of commercial establishments and vacationers, sleepy houses were dotted along the shore. Only a few people were milling about. He walked on a path, which led further down the beach. At one point the path branched out, one course leading down to the shore, the other leading away from the shore and towards the woods. A dozen black figures were standing at the edge of the latter path, all of them wearing white masks that obscured their faces. Upon reaching them, Severus pulled out his own mask and quickly donned it.

A tall figure moved towards the centre of the group, his cold grey eyes visible through the slits in his mask.

"The Longbottom house lies at the end of this path. It is the only residence in this area, the nearest house being about a mile east. We basically have free rein of this operation, aside from the fact that the woman is not to be unduly harmed," announced the voice behind the mask.

"What about the wards?" came from the figure next to Severus.

"Mulciber," Severus quietly identified the man.

"Rookwood went ahead, and is currently disabling the wards as we speak," answered Malfoy. "Our little rat from their puny _Order_ managed to obtain a list of the wards that Dumbledore used. Quite a number of them, actually, a few even bordering on Dark Arts." A few laughed. "Though none of them is a match for us," Malfoy finished with a flourish. "And speaking of the devil, here comes Rookwood."

True enough, a figure was striding down the path from the woods towards their group.

"I have disabled the wards," Rookwood announced to them.

Lucius gave a small nod. "Good. Now, Avery, Crabbe and Jugson will be coming in from the north. Goyle, Karkaroff and Macnair, you three come in from the south. Rookwood, Rosier and Snape, you will enter via the backdoor. Mulciber and Nott, you two will be coming with me through the front door. Assign a person from each team to stay outside, in case the woman tries to escape. Everyone must wait for my signal before attacking. Now, let's go."

The twelve men quietly made their way down the path. A few meters from the house, they separated and went towards their specified posts. Minutes after trudging through the woods, Severus saw the outline of a two-storey house. It seemed as if all the lights in the house were on. An outline of a pregnant woman could be seen from upstairs, presumably from the bedroom. A vague aroma of roast beef was wafting through the air.

"Rosier, you stay behind," Rookwood muttered.

The other man gave a small, imperceptible nod.

Severus moved closer to the house, his eyes straining to see whether there was anyone else in the area other than the Death Eaters.

"Dumbledore may have missed it," he thought. "He may not have noticed..."

A green light suddenly and briefly illuminated the woods. Severus quickly and stealthily moved towards the back of the house, his wand at the ready and all his senses heightened. Rookwood, a few steps ahead of him, reached the backdoor first. Rookwood blasted the door open, and Severus barely dodged the wood fragments. They entered into a kitchen, where a steaming pot was cooking over a low fire. Snape quickly opened all doors and closets, checking to see if anyone was hiding.

"All clear," he said to the other Death Eater.

Rookwood nodded. "I will stand guard here. You move on ahead."

Severus swiftly passed through the dining room, where another Death Eater was already positioned. He went on up the stairs, and was met at the top by a fellow Death Eater.

"There is no one here!" Malfoy's voice hissed.

"She has to be here! We could see her from outside!" Severus replied.

"You could see _this_ from outside," retorted the other man, while pulling Severus into a room. It was the bedroom, and situated by the window was a dummy of a woman wearing a pouch around its torso to make it appear pregnant.

"We were set up," murmured the figure standing by the doorway.

"Avery, gather the others, we have to leave now," Malfoy ordered.

Shouts from outside could suddenly be heard in the still house. Severus strode towards the window, and he saw more than a dozen wizards duelling with the few Death Eaters left outside. Red and green flashes could be seen flying across the woods. He barely moved his head away from the window before a red light went through it, breaking the glass.

Malfoy and Avery were already halfway down the stairs, and Severus quickly followed suit. He fled through the back door, and nearly impaled himself upon the wand of another wizard. Alastor Moody was standing just outside the door, his wand inches away from Severus' head and pointed at the space between his eyes. He could see a red light coming out from the tip of the Auror's wand, and he immediately went for the wand, thus making the Auror lose his aim. The curse whizzed by his ear, giving Severus enough time to lose the Auror and make for the woods.

As he ran for the dark cover of the trees, he could hear a number of _pops_ as his companions disapparated. Just as Moody was about to fling a curse at him, Severus promptly apparated away.

***

1730 GMT

The halls of Hogwarts were eerily quiet and empty. His quick footsteps are the only sounds that could be heard. James Potter strode towards the Headmaster's office, seemingly unaware of the blood that was flowing down his face.

"Lemon drops," he muttered to the stone gargoyle guarding the office.

He only felt his injuries once he was upon the moving staircase. The world suddenly seemed to move too fast for him, and it felt as if his afternoon snack was trying to make a comeback. Feeling more than slightly nauseated, he rapped on the Headmaster's door.

"Come in."

James opened the door, and slowly went inside the room. Three people were already inside. Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk; Alice Longbottom positioned herself on an armchair near the desk while her husband stood by the fireplace.

"James! Your head, it's bleeding!" Alice exclaimed.

"Sit down, please," Dumbledore told him.

James gratefully accepted the proffered chair. "This is nothing, Alice, don't worry," he reassured the woman.

"What happened?" Frank asked from his side of the room.

"They came as expected, though not as many as we assumed. Only around ten, not more than a dozen, Death Eaters," James replied. "They entered the house, but soon realized that they were set up. They all fled after that, though not without a fight," he finished.

"Was anyone hurt?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Only minor injuries on our side. I think Dorcas was able to beat one of them up pretty badly before he escaped. We weren't able to capture anyone, though," said James.

Dumbledore gave a small sigh. "I'm afraid we have to take more precautions, Frank, Alice."

Frank glanced at his wife, before turning to look at the older man. "I understand, Albus."

"The Fidelius, then?" asked Alice.

Dumbledore's answer was brief. "Yes." 


	5. 11 July 1980

Thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised version posted March 29, 2004

_11 July 1980_

"Well, everything seems to be in order. Just don't forget to take your vitamins and get enough rest, and your baby will be fine," reassured the middle-aged woman seated behind the mahogany desk.

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Dr. Rosenbaum," answered Lily Potter.

The elder doctor smiled at the auburn-haired woman. "I will be seeing you next month, then, Mrs. Potter."

Lily stood up and shook the other woman's hand before leaving the small office. She awkwardly made her way across the clinic's hallways, her bulk making it harder for her to manoeuvre along the crowded passages. Here and there expectant mothers were sitting on the benches, patiently waiting their turn. A few were holding squirming toddlers, some quietly nursing infants.

She walked out into a sunny quad, surrounded by majestic elms and blooming roses. Few cars were driving along the road fronting the clinic, and a handful of children were playing in the playground situated in the middle of the quad while being overseen by their gossiping mothers.

"They look so peaceful, so happy, so _content,_" she said to herself.

How she envied them that bliss brought upon by life's routines. Their biggest dilemmas probably consisted of what to feed their families for the night, or whether to paint the baby's room pink or lavender. Their lives are untouched by pain, by death, by suffering... by _war_. But she did not have that luxury. She chose not to have that luxury nine years ago, and not for the first time she is regretting that choice.

Continuing her slow yet steady gait, she made her way towards the building's deserted rear. She looked at her muggle wristwatch and saw that there was still half an hour before lunchtime.

_I could still catch James before he heads out with the boys_, she thought.

Checking to see if anyone was watching, she Apparated with a loud crack and found herself in the midst of a rundown alley. Quite a number of disreputable establishments, including a dingy pub, lined the street, and a whole patch of wall was covered with graffiti. Lily walked towards a freshly painted yet obviously broken down telephone booth. Inside she dialled 6-2-4-4-2. A woman's voice immediately greeted her, and asked her name and the nature of her visit.

"Lily Potter, here to visit her husband in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she replied to the disembodied voice.

A silver badge promptly materialized out of the telephone box, which she attached to her robes. Without warning the telephone box dropped down, shooting past the ground with a speed that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Lily clutched at her swollen belly, afraid that the sudden motion might put unwanted stress on her unborn child. Less than a minute later, and not a moment too soon, the box stopped its descent and Lily stepped out into the Atrium.

The foyer was bustling with life. Witches and wizards were moving towards various directions. Emerald flames danced in the numerous fireplaces as people went to and from the Ministry via floo. Lily gingerly moved towards the security stand to have her wand registered by a sleepy guard. As the guard processed her wand, she glanced at her watch and saw that it was a quarter to noon. She hurried towards the crowded lifts that would take her up to the second level.

Lily hoped that she would catch her husband before he went out to lunch with his co-workers. She just wanted to be with him. They've hardly seen each other these past few days. James was always busy with his Auror work during the day, and by night he was out on duty for the Order and usually she was already asleep by the time he came home. But she didn't begrudge him his work; neither did she resent his late hours. She just wanted to be with him today, no matter how short their time together.

"Level Five, the Department of International Magical Cooperation," the magical voice announced.

Lily watched as a number of wizards disembarked, only to be replaced by even more wizards. She recognized a number of faces, all acquaintances from Hogwarts. Everybody seemed so mature, so grown-up. They all looked like they belonged here, with their smart robes and rolls of parchment. She's never felt so out of place before. Lily remembered the last time she felt this way, when her mother caught her applying make-up eleven years ago. Her mother gently reprimanded her, saying that she shouldn't be in such a hurry to grow up.

"Enjoy your childhood, Lily. You're only a child once."

And she was still a child, a child with child. She knew she wasn't ready for motherhood. She was too young, by both muggle and wizard standards. She was starting to feel anxious again, a panic akin to claustrophobia. She just wanted to escape, to run away, and to go someplace not ravaged by war. She just wanted to be a child again, to not feel any responsibility for another human being, to not being obligated to fight a losing battle.

"Level Two, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," announced the silky voice.

Lily carefully squeezed through the crowd inside the lift and managed to get out of the lift after much pushing. She walked through the hallway leading to the Auror Headquarters, glancing out the magical windows into perfect white clouds amidst a periwinkle sky.

"Hey Lily!" cried a tall black man from the entrance to the Headquarters. "How are you doing? And when is the little Potter due?"

"Hello Kingsley," she answered with a smile. "I'm fine, though a little tired. It's due next month. By the way, have you seen James?"

"Yes, he's at his cubicle. I think Sirius is in there with him," he answered while gesturing towards the eastern part of the room.

"Thanks," Lily replied with a small smile.

She walked easily down the aisles of the Headquarters, having walked by it countless times already. She found her husband in his cubicle, surrounded by posters of various Quidditch teams. Images of the Holyhead Harpies, the Chudley Cannons, the Montrose Magpies, the Pride of Portee, the Wimbourne Wasps, and countless others greeted her. She walked in to the sounds of laughter, and saw that the two men were nearly falling out of their seats.

"Hey boys, what's so funny?" she asked, leaning in to James for a kiss.

Sirius acted sick and made gagging noises while James gave his seat to his wife.

"Just reminiscing, thinking about our seven years of fun and innocence in Hogwarts," James answered.

Lily snorted. "Innocence?"

Sirius sat up in indignation. "Hey! What are you insinuating, hmm?" he asked in mock anger.

James laughed. "How did the check-up with that obscurean-giantologist go?"

"Obstetrician-gynaecologist, dear," Lily corrected him. "It went well. She just told me to get enough rest and to stay away from rampaging buffoons like your best friend."

"Hey! I'm not rampaging!" Sirius cried out.

"Buffoon nonetheless," James retorted with a grin. "Anyway, is there something wrong?" he asked his wife.

"No, nothing's wrong. I just thought that maybe we could, um, have lunch together, for a change?"

"Ahem, I think I better get going now, before I die from overexposure to sugar," Sirius muttered. He turned to leave the couple, not before giving James a small wink.

James gave Lily a small smile. "Sure. That's a lovely idea. Let me just fix my things."

As the couple went down, with James' arm across his wife's shoulders, all her doubts and fears became forgotten. With her husband by her side, Lily began to feel safe and happy.

***

_He was back in the Gryffindor common room, which was eerily devoid of life. There was no one lounging by the couch. There was no fire burning in the fireplace. There were no candy wrappers scattered on the floor. He decided to go up into the boys' dormitory, into his old dormitory. Gingerly he went up the circular staircase, the stone staircase that appeared to be close to collapse. Finally he reached the door to his old room, but it wouldn't open. _

_"Alohomora!" he muttered, brandishing his wand but to no avail. The door still did not budge. _

_Laughter suddenly echoed up from the common room. He turned around and ran down the stairs. _

_"Padfoot? Prongs? Moony? Are you there? Wait for me!" he desperately cried out. _

_There was no one there. The common room was still empty. He turned around, searching every corner, every space, for a sign of his friends. Their laughter still echoed in the room. After a minute, he noticed that the Fat Lady's door was open. He rushed out, hoping to see a glimpse of his friends. _

_He stepped out not into a Hogwarts hallway, but into a dark field. The fiercely blowing wind nearly knocked him off his feet. He groped blindly into the night, walking aimlessly forward._

_"Hello? Is anybody there?"_

_"Over here, Peter. I'm over here," a faint voice answered him. _

_He followed the voice, desperately wanting to find its source, to find someone in this vast abyss. A light suddenly came on, a faint light emitted by a far-away wand. He stumbled towards it. The weak, pulsating light became his beacon. He slowly made his way up what seemed to be a hill, and the light was situated right at its peak. _

_It seemed as if he would never finish his ascent, and he was wondering if perhaps he wasn't actually moving when he reached the summit. He was brought face to face with a small, balding man who appeared to be digging into the ground. The man had sallow skin, skin so pale he no longer appeared to be alive. His eyes were bloodshot, with deep circles embedded beneath them. This man smiled at him, and Peter was reviled to see the other's yellow and crooked teeth. This small man gave off a foul stench, a stench reminiscent of rotting flesh. _

_"What took you so long, Wormtail?" the other man asked in a raspy voice._

_Peter felt cold, and his left forearm suddenly felt as if on fire. _

_"Have you seen the others? James, Sirius and Remus?" Peter asked._

_"They've long gone. You've made them disappear," the man answered. _

_"Who are you?" Peter asked. _

_The man softly laughed. "You know who I am. And I certainly know who YOU are."_

_Peter groped around his robes for his wand, but he could not find it. Blind panic was starting to overwhelm him, and fear has taken hold over his mind. _

_"Who are you?" he asked again, his question laced with desperation. _

_"Have you come to join me, Wormtail?" inquired the other, saying the last word with a tinge of sarcasm._

_"Join you where?" Peter asked._

_"Here. I think this grave is roomy enough for us," the other man said, laughing as he gestured towards the newly dug grave._

_"Who are you?" Peter asked again. He tried to ignore the pain in his arm, though he felt as if it was on fire._

_"Peter Pettigrew," answered the other man. "Won't you help me dig?"_

Peter woke up, drenched in sweat and with tears flowing down his face. He took deep breaths in an effort to calm down. Suddenly a fiery pain burst through his left forearm. He felt frightened again, no longer of the phantoms in his mind but of a real and terrible menace. With speed that is unexpected from someone of his stature, he dressed and made himself presentable. Clutching his white mask in his right hand, he Apparated towards an inconspicuous corner of Britain where the Dark Lord was waiting for him. 


	6. 27 July 1980

Thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised version posted March 29, 2004.

_27 July 1980_

**Giants, Dementors Attack Wizarding Britain;**

**83 Casualties, 162 Injuries Reported**

On midday yesterday, several groups of giants and dementors simultaneously attacked various locations in wizarding Britain. Both creatures are known to be supporters of the wizard known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who.

A dozen giants besieged the village of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Substantial damage was inflicted upon the village, mostly on residential areas. Twenty-eight people perished, while sixty-four were injured. The school, protected by numerous powerful wards, proved impenetrable for the giants.

More than fifty dementors were estimated to have attacked Diagon Alley and St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The wizarding community, ill-prepared for such an attack, proved easy prey for the dementors. The hardest hit area was Diagon Alley. The commercial area was crowded with shoppers, all of which became easy-targets for the dementors. Diagon Alley was also severely lacking in security, with the creatures freely able to come-and-go as they please. The area reported a total number of thirty-three casualties, all of whom were given the Dementor's Kiss, and a total of fifty-two injuries.

St. Mungo's wards were unable to defend against the attack of the dementors. Investigations on how they were able to obtain access to the hospital are currently being conducted. Suspicions regarding an inside accomplice are abound. The hospital reported a total of twenty-two casualties.

In response to criticisms to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement regarding the late deployment of Aurors and Hit Wizards, Bartemius Crouch Sr. stated, "My department did everything it can, given the time constraints and the lack in resources."

James Potter folded up today's edition of the Daily Prophet, placing it on top of the growing stack of newspapers in their living room. The sun had set in the few minutes it took him to read the headline. Dancing shadows cast by the trees surrounding their home now bathed the room. He stood up to flick the light switch near the door and the room was immediately flooded with white light, blinding him temporarily. He closed his eyes and waited for the stinging red spots to disappear.

Electricity fascinated him. It amazed him how muggles were able to get by without magic by harnessing nature. It stung his pride to admit, but sometimes muggles were significantly more knowledgeable than wizards. They had to be, if they wanted to survive in this harsh world. True, wizards had it easier for the past few millennia. For them, almost every predicament could be resolved with just a flick of his wand and a simple incantation. Wizards were also physically superior to muggles, being immune to more diseases and having increased stamina. But now it seems that the muggles have unknowingly caught up to their magical brethren. The variety of muggle inventions simply astounded him. It seems as if muggles have a gadget for everything: for cooking, for travelling, for entertainment, for _anything_.

He was very sceptical when Lily first broached the idea of living like muggles. True, there was some wisdom in it. That way, their neighbours would have less ground for suspicion. It took him a while to get used to all the buttons, switches, plugs, knobs, and whatnot. Now, he saw the novelty in every single appliance. Everyday he had to resist the urge of just taking the television apart, in the hope of gaining some insight into its inner workings.

Though he still wouldn't trade magic for anything. What good is a car when there are a dozen Hungarian Horntails charging after you?

James glanced at his wristwatch. It was now six minutes after five.

"Lily! We're going to be late," he called out to his wife.

"Just a sec, I'm almost done," came the muffled reply.

He moved to stand at the bottom of the stairs, prepared to help his wife get down. A few seconds later, Lily appeared at the top of the steps. He felt a flush of pride at the sight of her swollen belly. He began to ascend the stairs, poised to assist her.

"No, I'm okay," Lily told him. She motioned for him to remain where he was.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm pregnant, not lame," she retorted.

James watched as she gingerly made her descent, her face scrunched up in concentration. He loved the way she looked every time she made that face. He adored the way her eyebrows bunched together and the way she softly bit her lower lip.

Lily looked up and caught James' gaze. "Do I have something on my face?" she teased, a gentle smile grazing her lips.

"Nope. All perfect," he softly replied.

He led her through the darkened hallways into their kitchen, making sure that she doesn't stumble or run into any sharp corners. He flicked on the lights in the kitchen, bathing them in a sea of light.

"Are we going to floo there?" Lily inquired while inspecting the sooty fireplace.

"Not tonight. Albus didn't want to risk it, in case the network was being watched. He sent this portkey, which activates at half past five," he gestured towards a battered telephone directory, resting on top of the table.

Lily glanced at the clock on top of the mantelpiece. "We have five minutes, then."

James helped her sit on the kitchen table. He went to sit next to her, with the portkey situated between them.

"Did Alastor mention why we're meeting today?" Lily asked softly.

He paused slightly, looking past the windows into the street. He could see their neighbour's children playing in the middle of the road, indifferent to other pedestrians and to the passing cars. Even with the windows closed, he could still hear their laughter.

"No. He hasn't been telling me much lately. In fact, Alastor and Albus have hardly been telling anyone anything these past few months," he replied.

"What about Frank? Have you heard from him?" she inquired.

"Nope, still no word. All I know is that they've left Blackpool, but nobody knows where they went."

James stood up. "Come on, it's almost time."

They both held on to the directory. Soon he felt that familiar yet unpleasant tug on his abdomen. He closed his eyes, and waited for the inevitable and sudden halt. After what felt like eternity, though it couldn't have been more than a minute, he felt the world stop spinning.

He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of a familiar hall. The Great Hall looked smaller tonight, perhaps because of its emptiness. In place of the four House tables was a smaller one, located at the centre of the room. Instead of raucous laughter and young voices alive in conversation, soft tones and muted footsteps reverberated through the hall. James looked up to the enchanted ceiling, and saw the faint twinkling of the stars amid the darkening sky.

"James! What took you so long? We've been here for over an hour now," said a man from behind him.

James turned to face the grinning faces of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. He grinned in return, striding forward to speak with his friends.

"What were you doing here so early? The meeting is not 'til 6," he inquired.

Sirius shrugged. "Don't know. The portkey that Moody gave us activated at 4, so we've been here ever since."

Peter gave an impish grin. "We've been doing some exploring, anyhow. We've spent about an hour wandering the halls. I reckon we've almost found the professors' dorms."

"And we would have, if our friend Wormtail here wasn't so afraid of the dark and silent corridors," Sirius added, laughing at the embarrassed tint in Peter's face.

James laughed at his friends' antics. While Sirius continued to rib Peter about his phobias, James took the opportunity to survey the hall. Nearly every member of the Order was there. Sturgis Podmore, Rubeus Hagrid, Benjy Fenwick and the Prewett brothers were having a lively talk near the fireplace. Elphias Doge, Minerva McGonagall and Dedalus Diggle were already seated at the table and absorbed in their conversation. Emmeline Vance and Dorcas Meadows were both helping Lily into a chair.

James turned his attention back to his friends in time to hear Sirius tease Peter on his fear of cats. Peter was fortunately saved from more teasing by the entrance of Albus Dumbledore, Edgar Bones and Alastor Moody.

"If everyone would please take a seat, that we may begin," stated the wizened Headmaster.

Feeling like schoolboys again, James and his friends took their places at the table. He watched as his former Headmaster took his place at the head of the table. A tense silence befell the Hall.

James held his breath in both anticipation and excitement. He always felt a tinge, no a burst, of excitement every time Order met. He felt the same thing every time he went on missions for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He couldn't explain exactly _why_ he felt so excited. It was the same sort of excitement he felt every time he played Quidditch. It was as if he couldn't _wait_ to get out there. Not that he was treating this war like a game, far from it. It was hard to explain; he just knew that his work gave him the same sense of accomplishment that Quidditch did. In the Quidditch pitch, after winning a game, the spectators hailed him a hero. In this war, after subduing a Death Eater or rescuing someone, the whole community hailed him a hero. Not that he was letting this get to his head, far from it. His role in the war gave him a sense of purpose. It gave him a sense of identity. In the Quidditch pitch, his focus was on himself. In this war, his focus was on something greater than him. And this made him feel more alive than anything else.

A soft cough broke his reverie. He guiltily looked at Albus, who has already started to speak.

"...Yesterday was truly surprising, though not unexpected. Fortunately for us, Hogwarts is protected against such an assault. Though I regret that we weren't able to gather enough information to warn the community. I was only aware of a massive attack, though the logistics of it eluded me," the old wizard stated.

"Why was Hogwarts attacked? St. Mungo's and Diagon Alley I understand, but Hogwarts during the holidays?" questioned Sturgis.

"First, because of the prestige it would give _Him_. Hogwarts is the strongest structure in wizarding Britain and the bastion of Albus Dumbledore. Destroying it will show how powerful He supposedly is. Second, with Hogwarts gone, a whole generation of wizards will be left uneducated, or at least lacking in education. They will be left defenceless against Him, thus they will be easy pickings for Him. Third, since Hogwarts is one of the few schools that still accept Muggleborns, destroying it will prevent their entry into the magical community," Alastor Moody answered.

Albus nodded. "Yes, the destruction of Hogwarts is one of Voldemort's goals. In line with this, the wards will be strengthened ere the start of the next term."

Dorcas was the next to speak up. "What about the issue of the giants and the dementors? What is being done to address this problem? Besides, they aren't the only creatures loyal to You-Know-Who."

"I say we launch an attack on the giant colonies in the mountains, wipe them all out before they can do any more harm," answered Benjy.

Hagrid bristled at this, his face reddening underneath his beard. "Now, yer outta line an' being too hasty. There's no need fer that kind of action."

"Won't the Ministry try to talk with them? Maybe send an envoy to the colonies, hear their side?" Lily asked.

Albus sighed softly, looking tired and weary. "The Ministry has neither the resources nor the prudence to conduct such talks. And it is doubtful whether the giants will heed us, if we do attempt to have a discussion with them. Moving on to the next order of business, I think that Minerva has something to report to us."

The Scot cleared her throat before launching into her speech. "Yes. As most of you know, I recently went to America to seek the support of our colleagues there in this war. Unfortunately, the majority of them see the war as 'nothing more than a local insurrection.' They will not act unless their homeland is directly threatened," the matron finished, disappointment evident in her tone.

James perked up. "Majority of them? How about the rest of them, then?"

The elder woman looked tired. "They are too scared of taking a stand, actively or otherwise. They don't want to force unwanted attention into themselves."

"While that news is certainly distressing, it is what I expected. We would have to increase our efforts in uniting Europe, and bringing others into our cause. Next order of business..."

Albus' statement was interrupted by the appearance of a black barn owl, which was sailing towards him. It dropped a single roll of parchment into the bearded man's lap. James watched curiously as Albus silently read the letter. A slow, almost pensieve smile broke over the old man's lips.

"Alice Longbottom has just given birth to a healthy boy."

***

Dusk was falling. Various animals were returning to their habitats, eager for rest. Night predators were starting to wake from their slumber, eager to satisfy their hunger. Hardly anything could be seen roaming the forest.

The old wooden house in the midst of the trees stood out in contrast to its surroundings. Its interior was bathed in light, and served as a beacon in the void created by the trees. Despite its allure in this bleak night, the creatures of the forest knew better than to heed its call. Every living thing in the forest knew that the old house in the middle of the trees was to be avoided, especially at night, especially on this night.

No more than ten paces across, the small dwelling appeared dilapidated and abandoned. The paint was peeling in a dozen places, and the roof looked about ready to collapse. The interior was as bleak as the exterior. The house was completely devoid of any furniture save for the various boxes scattered around. Lit candles were resting atop the boxes, casting eerie shadows on the bare walls.

A young man sat near the window, staring past the trees into the summer sky. Remus Lupin was alone tonight, with no friends to keep him company. He was sorely tempted to go out of the house, to run out into the woods, but he couldn't risk it. He _wouldn't_ risk it.

He missed the company of his friends. He longed for their old adventures. How he wanted to run around, without a care in the world, knowing that the Marauders were there to keep him in line. But they weren't there anymore, and he would have to keep himself in line tonight.

A part of him was glad for the solitude. Tonight he could just become the wolf, he could become _Moony_, without any shame or fear. Tonight he wouldn't have to worry about doing something wrong. Tonight he wouldn't need to try to fit in. He could just be himself and release the fury that was bottled within.

The transformations were painful, but what he couldn't take the most was the aching need to vent out the rage and fury within him. This anger, which remained dormant during the rest of the month, was like an active volcano threatening to immerse him in burning lava during the nights of the full moon. It was destructive yet beautiful at the same time. It made him want to lash out, to tear flesh, and to howl out all his frustrations into the brilliant orb in the sky.

But even in the solitude of this house, in the darkness of the woods, he wouldn't let himself go. This is why every month, whenever the Marauders couldn't be with him, he would lock himself in this deserted forest. He would be a prisoner in this house. He would become his own jailer.

Sensing that the time was near, he stood up and quickly extinguished the lights. Resigned to his fate, he stood by the window to gaze into the sky.


	7. 31 July 1980

Thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised version posted on March 29, 2004.

The tidbit regarding "nature's paternity test" was inspired by a line from "Six Feet Under."

_31 July 1980_

1145 GMT

Nestled in the midst of bustling London was a flat that one would not be able to find, even if one knew its precise location. It was situated between a park that is often full of playing youngsters and an old house whose only inhabitants were an elderly couple and their six cats, yet none who passed by the flat's iron gates seemed to be aware of its presence.

The French windows were open, letting in the warm rays of the sun. Inside an elderly man gently cradled a baby boy with a tuft of brown hair, while a tall man loomed over his shoulder.

"You have a fine son here, Frank. A bit on the large side, but no less fine," Albus Dumbledore remarked.

Frank Longbottom's chest swelled with obvious pride. "Yes, he's our little cherub. Not to mention he looks just like me."

A laugh came from the corner of the room, where Alice Longbottom was currently laid down on the bed. "All babies look like their fathers initially. This is what may be called nature's very own paternity test."

Albus gave a small smile. "He is undoubtedly yours, Frank," he said softly.

The Headmaster gazed down the sleeping infant. _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... _The prophecy echoed unbidden in his mind, as it has ever since he learned of the birth of Neville Longbottom. Is this really he, the child foretold by prophecy, the one who holds enough power to bring down the greatest Dark Lord of this century? Could he be literally holding the future of the wizarding, nay, the whole world in his hands? How could so much power be contained in such a little person?

He handed the still sleeping infant back to his mother. "Neville is certainly the little angel."

Alice snorted. "He was far from an angel four days ago. That child absolutely refused to get out of my womb! I was in labour for fifteen hours, and not a single second of those were easy."

"You should have heard her, Albus," Frank muttered. "She could have put a banshee into shame with all her wailing and screaming."

"I heard that, Frank Longbottom!" Alice cried.

"Hush, you'll wake the baby," Frank said in order to placate his wife.

Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Perhaps we should now take leave of you, Alice, and let both the baby and you rest."

"Now that's a good idea," Frank whispered.

The pair left the bedroom, and proceeded down the hall towards the living room at the northern section of the flat. Frank gestured for Albus to take a seat on the couch, while he sat down on the leather-backed chair facing it.

"What brings you here, Albus? I know that you rarely make social calls," Frank inquired.

"I merely wanted to check on you and your family, and make sure that nothing was amiss," _and to make sure that the boy was safe_, he thought.

"What of the other night's meeting?" the other man asked.

"Minerva has brought bleak news from America. It appears that they see no profit in aiding us against Voldemort," the wizened man answered.

Frank gave a soft sigh. "I thought as much. What of the mole? Any new leads?"

"None whatsoever. I'm beginning to doubt if there really is a spy in our ranks, though all the evidence point to that conclusion." Albus paused for a while, wondering how to tactfully broach the next subject.

"Frank, I've been meaning to talk to you regarding your son."

The other man was obviously startled by this. "Neville? What about him?"

"You are aware of the prophecy, my friend, and so is Voldemort. We will need to prepare for the upcoming battle and to train your son."

Frank stared at Albus for a few seconds, his face inscrutable. "What do you propose then? That we give our son to you for safe-keeping?"

Albus was startled by this response. "No, Frank, I meant no such thing. I was thinking that we might relocate your family to a safer place, perhaps overseas. And we could inform the Minister of the prophecy in a few years time, so that proper arrangements may be made and Neville could be sufficiently trained."

"Forgive me if I seem a bit slow on the uptake, but are you saying that my son will be trained to kill at an early age?" the other man asked him, his voice dangerously soft.

Albus steeled himself, and his eyes suddenly lost their customary glow. "I am only saying what should be done, Frank, not what I want to be done. We are in a war, and each and every one of us has our own parts to play. Your son has his own part." The elder wizard paused, and he suddenly seemed much older. "I like it not, but he, _we,_ have to be prepared for anything. You must understand that, Frank."

The Auror appeared ready to argue, and Albus prepared himself for a verbal attack. After a few tense seconds, the younger man inhaled deeply, slowly exhaled and gave the Headmaster a weak smile.

"I can't say that I approve, Albus, but I do understand."

***

1655 GMT

Remus Lupin was fighting a losing battle. No matter what he did, he could neither lighten the dark hollows beneath his eyes nor conceal all the scars that resulted from the last full moon. Resigned to his fate of looking worse than he actually felt, he decided to tackle the decidedly easier task of fixing his hair.

The Marauders, upon graduating from Hogwarts, had set the last night of each month as their own night, a "boy's night out" of sorts. They spent the evening eating, occasionally drinking, and generally just having good-natured fun. If the night fell on a full moon, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would spend the evening "Marauding" with Moony. Tonight they planned on just having a nice, hopefully uneventful, dinner in a Muggle restaurant in London as the other three Marauders had work the next day.

Remus had just put on his shoes when he heard someone knocking on his door.

"Coming!" he called out. He rushed through the solitary hallway linking the four rooms of his bungalow towards the front door, and opened it to reveal the beaming countenance of Peter Pettigrew.

"Hello Remus. I finished earlier at work, and I thought that we could go together. Are you ready to go?" the smaller man said upon entering the house.

"Just about. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be ready to go in a few," Remus answered.

He took his wand and a pouch of Muggle money from his room, and made sure that all the windows in the house were securely closed.

"Ready now," he called to Peter. "Where are we meeting tonight?"

"James' house. They're stuck in an Auror meeting, but James told me to wait for them there," Peter replied.

The pair walked out into the backyard, where they could Apparate far from the prying and curious eyes of Muggles. After looking around to check that no one was around, the pair disappeared after a short **pop** and found themselves in a familiar suburban side street. Together they walked in a comfortable silence towards the Potter residence.

"Remus?" Peter spoke up after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you sometimes feel scared, with the war and all?" his friend asked.

Remus paused to look at his friend. For the first time, he noticed that Peter appeared more tired than usual. He seemed to have developed a few wrinkles on his forehead, and it could just be his imagination but his friend also appeared to be losing his hair.

"Sometimes? More like all the time," Remus answered.

"Do you sometimes wish that maybe..." the smaller man stopped and hesitated to continue. He was obviously uncomfortable with whatever it was he wished to ask.

"Maybe what?" Remus gently prodded.

"Never mind," Peter answered.

***

1820 GMT

"What could be taking them so long?" Lily Potter muttered from her seat in the living room, which was beside Peter Pettigrew and across from Remus Lupin.

Remus smiled. "I hope we're not bothering you _too_ much, Lily."

Lily gave a small smile. "Oh no, you're no bother. I'm just... worried, that's all. Are all the Aurors are in that meeting?" she asked Peter.

"Yes, I think," the smaller man answered.

Lily sighed. This meeting did not bode well with her. In fact, nothing did. She's been feeling particularly anxious these past few days. At first, she thought that it was nothing but her pre-maternity jitters. Now, she's not too sure. A nagging voice at the back of her head seems to be warning her, telling her to thread lightly and carefully. Perhaps a brief walk would do her good.

"Anything I could get you boys from the kitchen?" she asked, getting ready to stand up.

Peter helped her to her feet while Remus shook his head. "Nope, we're good," Peter told her.

She gingerly made her way to the kitchen. _Something really feels off_, she thought to herself. _I'm starting to feel a bit dizzy, and my stomach feels about to burst..._

"Remus! Peter!" Lily yelled out.

The two men ran into the kitchen and saw Lily keeling over a table, both hands clutching at her stomach. A puddle of water lay at her feet.

"I need to get to the hospital, and someone will need to call James," she told them weakly.

Peter stood near the door, gaping at Lily. His face was turning into an alarming shade of puce, and his mouth was hanging open. Remus rushed towards Lily, and made to support her into a chair.

"Peter will bring you to that Muggle hospital, since I don't know how to drive a car. I'll go for James," Remus told her.

This pronouncement made Peter snap out of his stupor. "Where are the keys?"

***

1900 GMT

The Auror meeting had just broken up for the night, and James Potter was famished. His last decent meal had been almost seven hours ago, and that had been just a single ham sandwich. Sirius Black was languidly stretching and yawning at the same time next to him.

"That meeting was viciously long. I'm starving," Sirius told him.

James laughed. "I'm looking forward to a nice tenderloin steak, with mounding heaps of potatoes on the side...

"James!" Remus Lupin's voice called out.

James turned towards the door, and saw his harried friend running towards him.

"Remus! Didn't Peter tell you? We're meeting at..." James began to tell him, but his friend cut him off.

"It's Lily, Peter's brought her to the hospital, she's about to give birth."

"What? But, the baby's not due 'til next month!"

***

2245 GMT

Four men were anxiously waiting at the hospital's lounge that night. Two of them, one wearing a thick pair of glasses while the other distractedly playing with a set of keys, sat side by side at the corner bench. One was seated across the pair, trying to read that day's newspaper.

Peter Pettigrew paced up and down the corridor, the prophecy unceasingly playing in his mind. _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._ James and Lily have defied the Dark Lord three times. Today is the last day of the seventh month.

"No," he told himself. "It's not him, it's that Longbottom kid. Not James' kid. Besides, this is probably a false alarm. The baby's not due 'til next month."

He continued his agitated pacing, and the others seemed completely oblivious to him. James appeared to be in a daze, while Sirius just looked hungry and sleepy. It was hard to tell with Remus, for the paper hid his face.

The minutes continued to drag on. 11:00 became 11:15, which after an eternity became 11:45. "There's still time," Peter thought. "Just a few more minutes, Lily, just a few more..."

11:46.

11:47.

11:48.

11:49.

The door of the delivery room suddenly burst open, and exhausted middle-aged woman stepped out. Peter suddenly felt cold, and could feel the blood rushing to his ears.

"Mr. Potter?" Dr. Rosenbaum said, heading towards James.

Remus hurriedly put down his paper, while Sirius gently nudged James.

"Doctor? Is she...?" James prompted.

The woman smiled. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You have a healthy baby boy."

***

2305 GMT

Hogwarts during the holidays was a quiet and sombre place. Hardly a sound could be heard at night, which was a welcome change to Albus Dumbledore. He loved the sound of the children's boisterous laughter, but he truly thrived in the quiet of the night. It was during nights such as these that he was able to truly think and work on his various projects.

He has just finished studying a particularly difficult scroll of ancient runes when he noticed that a certain book at the corner of the room began to glow. Its cover was magically lifted, as if by a strong wind, and an invisible hand began flipping through the thick parchment pages. Albus recognized it to be the book that recorded the birth of every magical child.

As he moved closer, he saw the quill that accompanied the register to begin to move, as if held by the same invisible hand. Right below _Neville Longbottom_, the quill began to write a name.

_Harry James Potter._

**End of Part I.**


	8. Part II: Misleading Clearcut Paths

Thanks to my beta reader, Black Angel.

Revised version posted March 29, 2004.

**Part II: Misleading Clear-cut Paths**

_It was a maze, a labyrinth of endless monotonous cream walls. His heavy leather boots barely made a sound, almost gliding surreally on the tacky white tiles, thanks to a silencing charm. He caught a whiff of a familiar scent, the scent of death. It hung everywhere, a ghostly presence trailing him in this blinding fluorescent light. How he despised it, for it remained a constant reminder of his mortality. Yet he still craved for it; he craved for the memory of power, HIS power, to bring about death in a split second._

_He approached another set of doors. _By Merlin, why do Muggles insist on putting doors around every corner?_ he thought disdainfully._

_Through the glass panes on the doors, he could see a young doctor standing by the nurses' station. He checked on his invisibility cloak, making sure that it was secure before passing through the entrance. He moved through the doors, not even caring that they make a loud, creaking sound. The young man looked up, puzzled at the sight of the doors moving as if by their own volition. _

_The wizard hurriedly strode towards his destination, which was at the end of this passage. Already he could see the glass panes that allowed visitors to see into the room. He felt for his wand, nestled in a holster by his left forearm. It appears to be his lucky day. There was no one, not even a solitary nurse, patrolling this particular corridor today. He moved next to the glass window, and peered into the room. _

_He was sorely mistaken. He was not alone, not today. Two women were in the room, one of them an elderly nurse who was standing guard over her young charges. The other was a young woman, her hair a magnificent shade of red. She sat by the corner, holding what appeared to be a bundle of blankets. The mother was oblivious, completely unaware that she had an audience. She continued to hold her baby, impervious to the passage of time. _

_The man slowly stepped back away from the viewing panel. Tracing his previous steps, he gradually found his way back to the hospital's lobby. Cautiously manoeuvring around the people milling the hall, he moved towards the doors and into the park across the street._

_An androgynous figure sat on a bench by the park's farthest corner. The individual was draped in formless mahogany robes, and a thick hood obscured the person's face. The man strode towards this figure._

_"Well?" a soft, almost indiscernible voice spoke from beneath the hood._

_"The Boy Lives," answered the wizard._

_***_

_2 August 1980_

1120 GMT

Lily Potter sat back at the comfortable couch. She was glad, no, relieved to be back home. She never did like hospitals, with their hushed corridors and artificial character, not to mention the lingering feeling of decay one gets from staying too long.

A loud thump made her look towards the front door, where a tall man was currently clutching at his forehead while three others were busy laughing at him. Baby bottles of all shades and sizes, along with a couple of blue baby blankets, were scattered around the entryway.

"What happened?" she called out.

James Potter moved past a teary-eyed Sirius Black, carefully stepping around the scattered effects. He was carrying an infant swaddled in yellow sheets, who was still dozing despite the ruckus created by the men.

"Sirius here was too busy ogling our brunette neighbour to pay attention to where he was going," James answered, merriment evident in his eyes.

"Oh, my head hurts," Sirius moaned, while being helped into the house by Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew remained by the door and was gathering the baby's belongings.

Lily tried to hide her smile. It was amazing how, despite the dark and trying times, these four boys, rather _men,_ could retain their own brand of charm. Underneath his cool and occasionally distant exterior she discovered the mind of a cunning prankster in Remus. Sirius was, well, _Sirius. _James, though admittedly a bit on the arrogant side, was a good person with a pure heart. He was her knight, the one who would defend her and keep her safe always. He was also her joker, the only one who could make her smile even when days seem bleak.

And Peter, he was definitely the surprise. Of the other three Marauders, not counting James, she was most comfortable with him. She used to think that he was nothing but a follower, content to tag along the more dominant males in their little pack. After a few years of friendship, she realized that Peter was the most sensitive and perceptive of the three. He was also the easiest to trust. He was never biased nor was he ever selfish.

Peter looked up, and saw her staring at him. She gave him a soft smile, which he returned with his lopsided grin.

"Lily, would you like to take Harry for a moment? Or should I place him in his cot? We're just going to the kitchen to put some ice on Sirius' head," James said to her.

She gestured for her child. "I'll take him. Peter, could you stay with me and keep me company?"

Peter paused, already on his way to the kitchen. He turned and gave her a small smile. "Sure Lily."

The smaller man sat next to her in the couch, his eyes focused on the babe in her arms.

"Would you like to hold Harry?" she inquired.

He looked up in surprise. "Um, no thanks, I don't know how. I might drop him..."

"Nonsense. Come on and hold out your arms. Put your right arm under here, the left around here. Place your hand over here. There, you've got him." Lily carefully guided Peter's arms and hands, which cradled her newborn son.

She gave him an encouraging smile. "See, you're a natural."

Peter was silently gazing down the sleeping child. He seemed in awe of the baby. Time seemed suspended as the two of them simply sat there, listening to the baby's soft breathing.

"His breathing seems a bit erratic," Peter murmured, a few seconds later.

"That's natural. He'll grow out of it eventually," Lily answered softly, careful not to wake her son.

"Thank you, Peter," she suddenly told the man beside her.

He glanced at her in surprise. "For what?"

"For everything. Thank you for driving me to the hospital and for holding my hand in the car. Thank you for staying with me until James arrived, and thank you for staying the whole night. I will always be in your debt. James, Harry and I will always be in your debt," she sincerely told him.

He looked down, his cheeks turning a bit red. "It was nothing. And, you're welcome." He leaned down and gently pressed his lips on the baby's forehead.

***

1400 GMT

_Silence, at long last,_ thought James Potter as he settled down on the couch. The Marauders had departed, after nearly eating everything in their refrigerator. Well, at least Remus had had the decency to wash the dishes they used. Lily and Harry were both sleeping, the former in their room and the latter in his nursery.

He was utterly spent, having slept a grand total of four hours for the past three nights. At first, excitement over his newborn son kept him up. Then, an irrational sense of fear for his son's safety and his wife's health took over him. Today, he was looking forward to catching some quality shut-eye in the blissful familiarity of their bed.

He was just starting to nod off when a soft rapping broke through the silence. He stood up and dragged himself to the front door. Peering carefully through the ridiculously small eyepiece embedded into the door, he saw a mass of white hair and a startlingly lavender pointed hat.

"Albus! This is a pleasant surprise," James said, fighting a yawn as he opened the door.

The elderly wizard smiled at him, his twinkling eyes glancing at James' unruly locks.

"I apologize for disturbing your rest, James," Albus said.

James gave a half-hearted smile. "It's quite alright, sir." He gestured for the elder wizard to take a seat at the recently vacated couch. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you."

James sat in front of the Headmaster. "What brings you here, Albus?"

"I take it that both Lily and Harry are sleeping?" the headmaster inquired.

"Yes, they're both upstairs. Did you want to see the baby?" James asked.

The old man shook his head. "Perhaps later, if you would allow me. But first, there is something I must tell you."

James instantly tensed. "What is it, sir? Is this about the Order? About Voldemort?"

"No, this is not about the Order, albeit it is about Voldemort. Voldemort and your son."

This bit of information startled James. "My son? You mean Harry? What -?"

Albus interrupted James. "Please, let me finish before you say anything else. Recently, a Seer foretold the downfall of Voldemort. She saw the birth of the powerful wizard that would bring about the end of these Days of Terror." The wizened man handed James a small piece of parchment. "I wrote down the prophecy here."

James looked down at the yellowed paper, at a loss to where this was heading.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

He barely finished reading the last line before the parchment burst into flames.

"Wait. You're not saying that my Harry is the one this, this _prophecy_ is referring to, are you?" James asked incredulously.

The Headmaster took a deep breath. "Yes, Harry is one of the Children of the Prophecy. And I, _we _must protect him for the enemy knows of the prophecy."

"Children of the Prophecy? There's more than one?"

"Two, actually. Your son and Neville Longbottom."

This news startled James. "Frank and Alice's son? Is this the reason why the Longbottoms suddenly disappeared?"

"Yes. There was a threat on both Alice and Neville, though we fortunately had sufficient warning. They are now in a secure location, and this brings us back to you. We cannot risk exposing a Child of the Prophecy to harm. We must relocate your family to a safe place where we could monitor your son's progress and where, in due time, we could train him," Albus replied.

James' voice became dangerously soft. "This _Child of the Prophecy_ is my son, and his name is Harry. He isn't some weapon at your disposal."

"Forgive me if my words came out that way, for that was not my meaning. I understand how you might feel, James, but you must be prudent. The enemy has many devices and countless spies. Living here, in the open, is potentially fatal for your family."

"I'm perfectly capable of protecting my family," James answered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"James I beseech you, do not be rash. Please, just..." the old man said, a tinge of desperation seeping into his voice.

"Sir, with all due respect, thank you for your concern but we are no longer the naïve children we once were, and I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to control our lives."

***

2100 GMT

He Apparated into a vast, cold stone chamber. Flickering torches mounted on the walls sent ethereal shadows dancing upon the walls. He rubbed his hands together in an effort to warm himself, but the air had an unnatural coldness that seeped through one's skin, making its way towards the heart and resting there. This chill served as a bitter reminder, even in the warmest of days, of the chill of night and of one's powerlessness in its midst.

"My little rat, you bear tidings I presume?" a cold voice called out from behind him.

In one fluid, graceful motion that would undoubtedly astonish his peers, Peter Pettigrew turned around and knelt before his lord.

"There is still no word on the location of the Longbottoms, and the Potters are now back home, my Lord," Peter answered respectfully, all the while keeping his head low to the ground.

"Good. Stay close to the Potters and try to discern the old fool's plans from them," the Dark Lord told him.

"My Lord, if I may," Peter nervously spoke up. "Wouldn't it be wise for us to attack now?"

The Dark Lord gave a short laugh. "Do you know how the King Cobra hunts, Wormtail?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not, my Lord."

"The King Cobra is an excellent hunter. It is fierce, cunning, majestic and ultimately fatal. It swallows its prey while it is still alive, and this may go on for hours on end. Bear this lesson in mind," finished Lord Voldemort. 


	9. 4 August 1980

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter et al belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just an intruder.

**Author's Notes: **

Sorry for taking so long. I just had my finals, and am now on vacation, so expect more regular updates.

Thanks to my very helpful beta reader, Black Angel.

Oh, check out my other story, **Secrets Kept: From the Eyes of a Rat.**

This chapter is dedicated to paradox01 (I'm glad you liked the bit with James and Dumbledore), UnknownVD (thanks for all the nice comments, those certainly made my month), Erin from J.E.A.R.K Potter (thanks), Eric2 (thanks. I'm glad you liked the idea of the different subplots), and Zmedlebum (thanks for the nice words).

Revised version posted April 17, 2004 

_4 August 1980_

0900 GMT

"He has our eyes," Anne Evans murmured.

Lily Potter smiled. "Yes, but it doesn't hide the fact that he's the spitting image of James." 

She adjusted her hold on the trembling infant while the older woman filled a small plastic tub with lukewarm water. The two were in the brightly lit kitchen, the morning sun's gentle rays warming them up. Lily gazed down at the baby, _her_ baby. He was a bit too small, having been born a month early. Tufts of long, black hair covered his strangely clumpy head. _James' hair_, she thought. His eyes, though, were a brilliant shade of emerald, just like her and her mother's eyes. His tiny hands were tightly clenched near his face. 

"The water's ready now, luv," Anne called out.

"What do I do now?" Lily asked, a bit nervously.

Her mother gave her a patient smile. "Don't be scared darling. Just ease him in gently, one hand under his head, the other under his legs. That's it, just sit him there for a while, and now lean him slowly. Careful now, keep an arm behind his neck and grip his arm under the armpit."

Lily tried to follow the directions calmly, but she couldn't keep her hands from trembling slightly. "Mum? Is this right?"

"Of course darling."

With her mother gently coaching her, Lily proceeded to bathe her son. _This really is easy, once you get the hang of it_, she told herself. _Nothing to it_.

Once Harry has been dried, clothed, and returned to his cot for a nap, the two women returned to the kitchen to clean up. For a few minutes, the two worked in silence. Anne Evans was the first to break the stillness. 

"You seem tired, dear. Have you been sleeping well?" she inquired.

Lily gave a small sigh. "Just your usual post-pregnancy weariness, Mum, nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?" asked the older woman.

"Yes. I can handle it," _I think,_ she added mentally.

Her mother looked far from convinced, though thankfully she moved on to another topic. "So, are you and James going to have Harry christened?" 

"Oh, yes we are. I almost forgot about that! Thanks for reminding me, Mum. I still need to make the arrangements."

Her mother gave her a surprised look. "James agreed? How?"

Lily nodded. "He knows how important it is for me. And," she said with a mischievous grin. "You know how annoyingly persistent I could be. I badgered him for two days until he said yes."

Her mother laughed. "Will you be inviting your sister?"

Lily gave a soft snort. "No. What's the point? I doubt they'll come."

Anne smiled. "Well, they probably wouldn't. But if you still invite them, then they couldn't accuse you of having no manners and being uncivilized."

Lily laughed. "Mum! Shame on you! Bad-mouthing your own daughter. Though you do make a good point."

"When will it be?" Anne inquired.

Lily paused for a while. "I don't know, probably by the end of the month. You and daddy will come, right?"

"Of course, luv. We wouldn't miss it for the world."

***

1200 GMT

"I'm so hungry. I could probably eat a hippogriff, or two," moaned Sirius Black as he and James Potter moved with the throng towards the elevator. 

James gave a short laugh. "This is what you get when you go out drinking with Hagrid on a Sunday, sleep in and end up skipping breakfast."

Sirius groaned. "You are not helping at all."

The two joined the crowd that entered the cramped elevator. "So, where are we having lunch today?" inquired Sirius.

James shrugged. "You decide," he said. 

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," announced the disembodied voice.

The doors opened to enter another batch of people, including Peter Pettigrew,who was accompanied by a portly man wearing a pinstriped robe and a lime green bowler hat.

"Oh, good. I was afraid I wouldmiss you guys," Peter told the other two.

"Hello James, Sirius," Cornelius Fudge said, in an overly joyful and somewhat grating voice.

"Hello Cornelius," replied James while Sirius merely nodded. 

James fought off a yawn as they waited for the elevator to reach the Atrium. _I need to sleep,_ he thought. _What I wouldn't give for one night of uninterrupted, refreshing sleep._

"Level eight, the Atrium," stated the magical voice. The doors opened, releasing the men into a hall swarming with people. 

"I'll see you later then, Peter. Nice seeing you again," Cornelius told the men, before going his own way. 

"Well, where to now?" asked Sirius.

"Let's try that new place down at Diagon Alley, the one that has Mediterranean dishes," Peter suggested.

"Fine by me," James said. 

The three flooed towards the commercial district, with James fighting to stay awake. It wasn't until they were settled and munching on kebabs that his fatigue was brought up.

"You okay, James? You seem awfully tired," Peter asked.

"I'm fine, if not a bit tired. The baby kept us awake last night," James answered.

Sirius scrutinized his face. "Are you sure?"

James tried to don a reassuring façade. "Yes, just suffering from a little first-baby overexcitement," _and the effects of the chosen son prophecy, _he mentally added.

"You're starting to look a lot like Remus, you know. Haggard, with dark circles under your eyes, and sunken cheeks…" Sirius teased. 

"By the way, what's up with Remus?" Peter asked.

James shrugged. "Remus? I don't know. Why do you ask?"

Peter hesitated for a while. "I can't really put my finger on it, but he's acting a bit funny. And he seems… I don't know. Distracted? And a bit temperamental."

"I durdn't noturshed," Sirius piped up, his mouth full of lamb gyro. 

"That is utterly disgusting, Sirius," James said. Turning to Peter, he said, "That might have just been the full moon."

Peter shrugged. "Maybe. But it _could_ be something else."

"Like what?"

Peter gave James a short look. "I don't know." 

***

1230 GMT

It was a storybook scene, with gallant lords and beautiful ladies gathered for a cosy picnic and basking in the midday sun. The leaves were starting to turn, transforming the Wiltshire countryside into a palette of greens and browns. 

Lucius Malfoy waited until his wife and their guests hadfinished eating before gesturing to the house elvesto clear their plates. "Would you like some tea?" he politely inquired.

Bellatrix Lestrange gracefully inclined her head. "Yes, please."

Almost instantaneously, a house elf appeared bearing a tray filled with a pot and four delicate cups. Lucius motioned for the elf to pour each of them a cup, and waited until the servant has finished before speaking up again.

"Any news from London, Rodolphus?" he inquired of the man sitting to his left.

Rodolphus Lestrange shook his head. "Everything is in order for tonight."

"Good," Lucius replied. He roved his eyes over the fields surrounding the manor, across the village surrounding his majestic house. He turned to look at his sister-in-law. "How is your dear aunt taking the death of cousin?"

The woman sighed, her features composed to elicit remorse, though Lucius could see a satisfied gleam in her eyes. "Not too well, I'm afraid. Uncle Orion told me that she's taken to brooding in her room and occasional hysterical bouts." Bellatrix glanced at her sister. "He asked me if I was the one who did it."

His wife gracefully shook her head, her sharp features revealing nothing and her face a blank slate. "And what did you say?" Narcissa asked nonchalantly.

Bellatrix raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I said that I, _we_, had nothing to do with it. And that it was probably the work of those Muggle-loving fools, who tried to put the blame on us," she replied.

Lucius watched as Narcissa daintily placed her cup on the table, her eyes baring a hint of regret. "Poor Regulus."

"We are in the midst of a war, where death is commonplace," Lucius retorted. He spoke too harshly, and he could see that he offended the women's sensibilities. "During war, darkness reigns. No one is immune from this darkness, from which the only escape is death. And Death is blind; she is a fickle mistress. She chooses randomly," he continued.

_War is the summit of the reign of darkness, that great equalizer which removes the players' identities, _he thought. _Purity of heart does not matter. Justness of cause, bravery, and strength of arms do not matter. Power is what ultimately matters, power strengthened by purity of blood. One's reasons for fighting do not enable the fighter to emerge from the darkness; rather they mesh him in the suffocating shadows even more. But power enables one to wield the darkness, playing it to gain the upper hand. For power is the darkness' mother, and darkness obeys her every command. _

Lucius glanced at his wife. "In war, survival is key but not the goal. What matters is how you play the game, how you adapt to the darkness." 

Rodolphus nodded. "Indeed."

***

1805 GMT

Night has fallen. The streets were dark, with only the occasional car passing by. Television sets were blaring inside the identical suburban houses. The wind was tonight was quite strong. _It looks like it's going to rain_, she thought. She quickened her pace, hurrying towards home. 

Emily Toke did not want to go home yet. She wanted to stay there at the park, where her friends still were. _Where David still was_, she thought. But a curfew is a curfew, and despite her countless protests to her parents, she did understand the need for precautions. The world today was a dangerous place, what with Muggle terrorists and Who-Know-You and his Death Eaters, killing people who are guilty of nothing more than being alive. She knows that her family is in greater risk, with their history of helping and consorting with Muggles. She glanced down at her watch. _6:05. Oh no, daddy's going to kill me_, she thought. She quickened her pace, determined to reach home in less than five minutes. 

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached their block. _That's weird, it seems awfully dark in here, _she thought. _The lampposts must be out of order. _

She strode towards her home, her feet making low crunching sounds on the gravel. _Why are all the lights turned on? _she wondered. _Are we having guests tonight?_

Emily slowly walked towards the front door, her ears straining to catch any sound from inside. _It seems a bit too quiet, though._

"Mum? Dad?" she called out as she entered the threshold. "I'm sorry I'm late. I lost track of the time, and…"

The sight before her struck her dumb. The house was in chaos with everything in disarray. The television set was broken, its screen shattered. The telephone was yanked off the wall and was ablaze in the fireplace. The couch was torn, repeatedly slashed until the foam was seeping out. 

She felt a wave of nausea hit her, making her want to vomit. 

Her father was there, spread-eagled on the floor. His glassy eyes were still open, gazing out in terror. Ugly bruises and hex marks marred his face, and his hair was singed. His shirt was drenched in blood, blood leaking from the gash across his chest. 

She forced her body to turn away, her eyes to look elsewhere. She turned around, and saw the horror on the other side of the house.

She saw her mother, tied to a column supporting the house, her naked body saturated with blood. Like her father, her mother's eyes were still open, gazing out into her invisible captors with a mixture of fear and contempt. 

"Hello there, Emily. I was wondering when you would show up," a man's voice said from behind, mocking her. Men's laughter suddenly filled the room, accompanied by dark forms that emerged seemingly out of thin air.

Strong and harsh hands grabbed her from behind, hurting her arms. "Kill me now, please," she whispered.

Teasing laughter, mocking and evil. "No, little girl," whispered the voice of death, his stale breath irritating her. "Why hurry? No one is going to hear you and no one is coming to your rescue. I think we'll be having some fun with you first."


	10. 5 August 1980

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe was created by JK Rowling. I'm just trespassing.**

**Author's Notes: **

Thanks to all who reviewed:

**E.V. Ann – **Thanks. I'm relieved to find that everyone's in character, so far.

**Morgana Black **- *blush* Such high praise! Thank you for your very flattering and encouraging words.

**Paradox01 **– Ah, Peter. The bane of everyone's existence. Isn't it amazing how he managed to remain free from suspicion?

**KSO – **Thank you. I'm glad you find the plot interesting. 

**Eric2 – **I'm glad you approved of the cliffie.

**Skippy1 **– I'm glad your liking the portrayal of Peter. I am trying to move away from the stereotypical evil!Peter, and I'm relieved that he still seems believable. 

**A Proud American** – No, I'm not anti-American. I agree with you that Americans will come to the aid of their allies, but this story takes place in Potter-verse. In the said universe, there's something called the Statute of Secrecy, which separates the Muggle from the Magical World. Thus, the Muggle government (under Reagan) would have little control on what their Magical fellowmen would do. Besides, as far as I know, nowhere in canon is it mentioned that America was involved in the fight against Voldemort (if it is mentioned, please tell me). It was always implied that Voldemort mostly terrorized Europe. 

I'm sorry that this took quite long to post, but I came down with the flu last month. Anyway, I've already started on the next chapter, which will be up (hopefully) by next week. And forgive all the errors, as this is un-betaed. I'll post the betaed version ASAP.

5 August 1980 

0030 GMT

_Carnage. _

Bartemius Crouch, Sr., could think of no other word to describe the scene before him. The corpse of an elderly man lay on the living room floor, his blood staining the plush white carpet. He could see various hex marks on the man's bare torso, and even some charred skin on the man's side. His cold hand held on to a battered wand. Propped up on the couch, an aged woman appeared, at first glance, to merely be asleep. Her ashen face and blue lips proved otherwise. At her feet lay the frozen body of a German shepherd, probably killed while defending its masters. From the looks of it, the perpetrators were more merciful to the dog, granting it a faster death. 

"Sir, we've found the body of a house-elf in the kitchen," somebody spoke up from behind him. 

Bartemius turned around to face Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Give it to the Department for Care and Control of Magical Creatures for disposal," he told the young Auror.

The stench inside the house was overpowering, making it hard for him to think. Rather than casting the Bubble-Head Charm on himself (something he forbade the Aurors to do, as it hindered the senses and jeopardized any investigation), he instead opted to go outside the house for some fresh air. A green glow surrounded the house, and upon looking up, he saw the menacing image of a skull with a serpent in its mouth floating above the house.

"Dawlish!"

A wiry-haired wizard went up to him.

"Sir?"

"Why hasn't that damn Mark been removed? Is everyone in my Department utterly incompetent and stupid that not a single Auror has even bothered to remove that monstrosity?" he bellowed into the nervous-looking Auror.

"Can I quote you on that, sir?" a woman's voice called out.

"Who are you and what in blazes do you think you're doing here?" Bartemius asked the heavy-jawed blonde woman who stood by the open gate. 

She gave a toothy smile and walked up to him, offering him her hand. "Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet, I –"

_Damn journalists. _"I'm sorry, Miss Skeeter, but you are not allowed here. Dawlish, kindly escort her out of –"

She brushed off the Auror's attempts at guiding her away. "Sir, can I just have one statement from your Department regarding the massacres?"

He scoffed at her words. "Massacres? I think you are highly exaggerating, miss. Now, if you would excuse us, we –"

"Three families were brutally murdered last night. The corpses of Edward Toke, grandson of Tilly Toke, his Muggle-born wife Glenda, and their teenage daughter were discovered before midnight, when neighbours reported seeing a strange image floating above their house. In Rye, John Graham, a Muggle-born, his wife Alessandria, also a Muggle-born, and their twin boys were discovered barely an hour ago. Same procedure, Muggles report a strange apparition, blah blah blah. And before us, if I'm not mistaken, inside this house are the corpses of Andrew and Marie Pinkstone, parents of Carlotta Pinkstone," the woman said in a rush.

He suddenly felt very hot, and fingered the collar of his robes.  "Miss Skeeter, we are currently conducting an investigation inside this premises, and I respectfully ask you to please vacate the area. A press conference will be held in the morning, and –"

The woman smirked. "Tell me, sir. Three families, two relatives of prominent, Order of Merlin First Class recipients, were brutally murdered. Is this any reflection of your Department's incompetence, rather, _ability_ to protect the Wizarding Community?"

"Rest assured that these crimes would not go unpunished."

"Just like the dozens of murdered Muggle-borns and Muggles?"

He fought the urge to hex the woman. "My Department will use all, _any_, means available to ensure that justice is served. And you can quote me on that."

***

0100 GMT

Peter Pettigrew sat down on the curb, exhausted after a week's worth of work in just one night. He closed his eyes and rested his head on his drawn-up knees. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep in his lumpy bed. Being an Obliviator was tougher than he expected. The Tokes lived in a well-populated, suburban neighbourhood, and quite a number of Muggles saw the Dark Mark. Being typical, foolhardy Muggles, a few of the neighbours curiously entered the house and saw the family. 

"Hello, Peter. Are you okay?" someone asked him.

He glanced up, and saw Cornelius Fudge sit next to him. "I think so, sir. Just tired. And you?"

"Same here." The junior minister glanced around the street. "The Tokes have quite a number of neighbours. How many did you have to Obliviate?"

"I stopped counting after the twenty-fifth Muggle."

"Were you the only Obliviator here?"

Peter nodded. "Yes. Thomas and MacDougal were sent to Rye. The Grahams lived in the city. The others were sent to London, to the Pinkstones. They thought that more Obliviators were needed there."

"These are dark days, aren't they?" Cornelius asked Peter softly.

He looked at the portly man beside him. "Indeed. One can hardly know whom to trust, when your friend might suddenly turn on you and stab you from behind."

Cornelius nodded. "Quite right, quite right." He suddenly looked at Peter. "Aren't you friends with that Black fellow?"

"Sirius? Yes, why?"

"That whole family's bad news, Dark wizards, the whole lot of them. His brother was one of those Death Eaters, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Regulus was. But Sirius isn't one of them; he's a good guy. Was even thrown out and disowned by his mother, after he refused to turn Dark and join You-Know-Who."

Cornelius looked sceptical. "He's not an affable fellow, though. Heard he had the reputation for being a bully and a troublemaker."

"It was all in good fun, sir. I was even in on a few of those pranks."

"You trust him?"

Peter stayed silent for a while. "I do," he answered softly.

"Just watch your back. Apples don't fall far from the tree, you know."

***

0145 GMT

Sirius Black wiped the sweat off his brow. It was a humid night, with hardly any breeze to cool him down. He fought the temptation of casting a wind charm, knowing that a couple of curious Muggles still lingered about. He sat down on the Grahams' porch chairs, resting his sore legs and aching feet. _This feels good,_ he thought as he settled more comfortably in his seat.

He closed his eyes and tried to forget the images he saw earlier, though it was a futile attempt. He knew that those images would be forever imprinted in his mind, though he could probably ask Peter to alter his memories. But knowing Peter's occasional blunders, he'd prefer having those memories to having all his memories erased. 

He was among the first Aurors to receive the summons, and the first to arrive at the scene. The metallic scent of blood had hung in the air, assaulting his senses. The green glow of the Dark Mark added a surreal feeling to the scene, making it almost seem like a dream. The twins, whose room was located in the first floor, had been discovered first. _And were probably killed first. _

Evan and Ewan are, _were, _just toddlers. They have done nothing to deserve death, though if there was anything Sirius could be grateful for, it was that they died quickly and painlessly. He saw them lying there on their cots, seemingly asleep. 

The parents were not as fortunate. Sirius had found the body of John Graham strapped to a chair, his hands heavily bound and his mouth gagged. The bare, battered and bloodied body of Alessandria lay on the bed. The chair had been facing the bed, and Sirius could only imagine the torture the couple may have underwent before they were finally put out of their misery. No one deserved to die like that. He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy, not even Snape. 

Inevitably, he thought about his brother. Was Regulus mercilessly tortured, before he died? Or were his executioners merciful, as in the case of the twins? 

He opened his eyes, hearing the wooden floor creak, and saw James Potter sit down next to him, holding two steaming cups. 

"Coffee, Sirius?" his friend asked, offering one of the cups to him.

Sirius took the proffered beverage gratefully, nodding his thanks.

"Are you okay?" James asked him.

Sirius shrugged. _Of course not. _"Yes, you?"

"Bone tired. They've taken the bodies."

"The neighbours?"

"Taken care off. They now believe that this was a burglary gone awry," James said.

"I don't envy the poor lads tasked with notifying the victims' families their job," Sirius muttered.

James nodded. "Where are you off to, now?"

"Home, try to get some shut-eye before I drag my sorry hide to work. Why are you still here, anyway? You do have a wife waiting for you at home."

His friend's cheeks reddened a bit at that. "I probably should go now."

"No one's going anywhere," a gruff voice announced. Alastor Moody stood by the front door. "Crouch has just called an emergency meeting. All Aurors are to report in two hours' time back at headquarters."

***

0400 GMT

Despite the hour, a number of witches and wizards squeezed into the usually spacious conference area at the second level of the Ministry of Magic. A few bleary eyed witches tried to stifle their yawns, while a group of wizards distributed mugs of coffee and potion. James scanned the room, looking for a place to sit. 

"Potter, Black, over here!" Davy Gudgeon beckoned them from the front.

The two moved their way in. "Morning, Davy," he said. 

"Do you two know what's this about? It isn't just us Aurors who's been called, also the Hit Wizards."

Sirius yawned loudly. "No idea, though this probably has something to do with what happened last night."

James nodded and looked around the room. What Davy said was true; an assortment of Aurors and Hit Wizards filled the room. Though they worked under the same Department, the two groups tended to work separately, and at times competitively, fighting over arrests and public recognition. The competition between the Aurors and the Magical Law Enforcement Squad has always been a sore point in the Ministry, with the two keeping valuable information from each other. 

A sudden hush filled the room. James turned and saw Barty Crouch, Sr. striding up to the front, with two assistants carrying stacks of parchment trailing him. The Department head went straight to business.

"I assume you are all aware of what happened last night?" It was more a statement, rather than a question. James nodded along with the other wizards. 

"This won't take long, as I don't want to keep you people from your jobs. I will not talk about what we didn't do that might have prevented last night's events, for endless chatter cannot alter the past. We are here to discuss the measures to be enforced that will prevent a repeat of last night." Crouch gestured to his assistants, who started distributing the parchments. 

James took a stack for himself, and saw that the parchments contained lists of names, addresses, years, occupations and, strangely enough, Hogwarts House.

"First, Aurors and Hit Wizards will now be working alongside each other. Information gathered from your investigations will now be shared and circulated in the Department. A meeting shall take place at the end of each week, where a summary of your investigations and research shall be given. Attendance is mandatory, and I shall be presiding."

"Second, surveillance of Knockturn Alley shall be increased, with more officers and shifts. Any suspicious activities shall immediately be reported, and the persons involved shall straight away be apprehended. The Writ of Habeas Corpus is temporarily suspended." Crouch waved a piece of parchment. "I have here the official order of the Minister suspending the writ, signed by the Wizengamot. Aurors and Hit Wizards are allowed to use _any_ methods in gaining arrests, and will not be held responsible for any injury obtained by the suspects."

James heard a few of the women gasp, and he felt as shocked as them. He can't remember the last time when the Ministry took such measures. Even during Grindelwald's time, the protection against arbitrary imprisonment was never suspended.

"You have each been given a stack of parchment. These list down the names of every Hogwarts graduate from the past fifty years. You will each investigate up to five individuals, depending on your skill and level, and I want a _thorough _investigation. Focus on those from pureblood aristocratic families. Find out anything and everything – their daily routines, when they eat, what they eat, their family life, any extramarital affairs. _Anything. _Investigate any rumour and follow every lead. We might not get them for murder, but what's important is that we _get_ them, even for something as trivial as littering, or not paying taxes. To maintain the officer's anonymity, only the employee numbers are indicated. Any questions?"

A female Hit Wizard spoke up. "Sir, even officers are listed in this thing. Are we –"

"No one is above suspicion. Everyone is a suspect. Any other questions? None? Now, get to work!"

James hurriedly scanned the list, searching for his number. The names were listed chronologically, by year of graduation, rather than alphabetically. He saw his number twice, beside the names _Malfoy, Lucius _and _Fletcher, Mundungus._

***

1020 GMT

The cavernous Muggle church was empty, save for the old man who sat, seemingly in prayer, in the front pew, the stained glass windows casting colourful flashes onto his white hair. An onlooker might mistake him for a priest, with his flowing black robes and gentle face, but Albus Dumbledore was anything but religious. A typical wizard raised outside the Church, he believed that the matter of the existence of a supreme deity was a mystery that humans are incapable of resolving. He has always been sceptical of the various dogmas that Muggles spread.

A loud pop resonated inside the church, signalling the arrival of a wizard. He heard heavy footsteps approaching him from behind, and the creak of the wooden bench as the man sat beside him.

"What happened last night, Severus?"

"Synchronized attacks of a chosen few, all of them from the Dark Lord's inner circle. Few knew of their plans."

Albus glanced at his companion. Severus Snape looked paler than usual, with dark shadows under his eyes. Playing the part of a double agent was clearly taking its toll on the man.

"Why haven't you been informed? Does Voldemort suspect a spy?"

Severus shook his head. "Ever since Black nearly turned against us, he has been taking extra precautions."

"Who were the perpetrators?"

"I'm still working on it, though I have a few in mind. I'll give you the list as soon as I can."

Albus nodded. "Do you have anything else to report?"

"None." The dark haired man stood up, ready to leave.

"Severus?"

"Sir?"

"Be sure that, the next time, you'll be one of those he chooses."

**Author's Notes:**

Carlotta Pinkstone is famous for her campaign for the lifting of the Statute of Secrecy and telling Muggles that wizards exist. Tilly Toke and her family saved Muggles from an attack of a Welsh Green dragon. Both are commemorated in Chocolate Frog cards. 

Source: The Harry Potter Lexicon.****


End file.
